Intoxication
by lostunicorn
Summary: The companion piece to "The Five Senses." Dialogue and the actual actions of the characters have remained unchanged to maintain the integrity of the original piece. Cath/Sara slash. Don't like, don't read.
1. Chapter 1

Here it is, the companion piece to "The Five Senses."

I own nothing of CSI, and am making no profit off of this. Suing would be pointless. As, in "The Five Senses" The snippets of song used here is from "Voodoo" by Godsmack.

* * *

"I know I'm asking a lot," I snap back into focus as Grissom addresses me, "but we need someone on the inside, someone we can catch this guy with, and you're the only one anywhere in the whole department with any relevant experience." The look on his face is expectant, like he wants me to answer a question. Did he ask me a question? It's hard to focus when I feel this intoxicated. Intoxicated off of _her_ smell, something floral and fruity all at once. I wonder what kind of soap she uses… Grissom is still looking at me. I need to respond. Think Willows. He said something about "four murders," "exotic dancers," and my "experience." Oh Christ, he wants me to go undercover. I didn't think that was a part of the job description. Then again, I wouldn't need training, so I suppose it makes sense.

"I get it Griss," I respond as I glance down at the copy of the file he handed me, "And you're right; this case can't go on unsolved any longer. I mean four dancers within the course of a month, no real trace, three of them from the same club."

"That's another thing," Grissom turns his eyes to Warrick and Sara, "this guy's a little tricky. He must have been observing the force for a long time, because he recognized the undercover agents. It's why he changed clubs. But we need more eyes in there besides Catherine. And, as luck of the draw would have it-"

"Everyone else is still out on assignment," Sara finishes Grissom's thought. She doesn't sound too happy about it. Can't say I blame her, though. Strip bars are rather seedy. Then again, I hear Lucy's is a rather decent place and there is the bonus of being around all those half naked women. But, I suppose that's only a bonus if you're actually attracted to women… Sometimes I miss my old "career."

"Right," Grissom confirms. "I want to be sure this guy is caught. Before another murder. Before he can move on to another scene. I'm counting on you guys. Ecklie already thinks the idea is crazy. We need to prove him wrong."

"Alright," I let out with a sigh as I rise. "Guess I need to go shopping before 'work.'" I twist my hips seductively as the word "work" falls from my lips, practically waving my ass in Sara's face as I do. When I turn towards the door, I catch a glimpse of her face. God, the look is priceless, eyes wide and slack-jawed. Shocking her is the closest I'll ever get to making her come… There's no way she'll survive this case.

* * *

I actually head back to my house first. Before I go and spend a fortune of the department's money on clothes, I might as well inventory my closet for anything I can use. Besides, I'd rather my mother not be around while I work this case, just to avoid her badgering me about it every time I come home. This means I have to talk her into going out of town for an unspecified amount of time and make arrangements with Nancy for Lindsey.

When I walk in the door, no one is there. That's right, I forgot, this is mom's bingo hour. Good, I can call Nancy with a bit of privacy.

The call itself takes all of ten minutes. Nancy gets it. All I had to do was say, "undercover stripper case," and she immediately agreed. She wouldn't want to have to deal with mom if she were in my position either. One down, one to go. I grab some shopping bags and head upstairs to gather some clothes.

I have more than I realize. I actually kept most of the clothes from my dancing days. (What can I say, when it comes to my clothing, I'm a bit of a packrat.) And, I actually fit into most of them. With the haul I'm pulling out, I don't think I'll even need to go shopping.

As I clean out my final drawer of "stripper memorabilia," I stumble upon one more article of clothing, a t-shirt long forgotten, buried in a drawer I knew no one would search because I was too embarrassed to admit that I had kept it. The shirt itself is rather unremarkable. It's nothing but a plain black tee. What's important is that it once belonged to _her_. The only reward I ever gained for pissing her off. I can't even remember what I had said to her in the locker room to make her fly off the handle. All I can recall is that she tossed her shirt at me in anger before storming out in just jeans and a sports bra. On reflex, as I had that day after she had left, I lift the shirt to my face and breathe in the scent that is Sara. God, it's delicious. Intoxicating. My head grows light from the sensation, and I lose myself in daydreams until I hear a door slam and my mother's voice graces my ears.

"Catherine? Catherine, are you here? Why are you home so early? Didn't Grissom just call you in for a special assignment?"

"Hi, mom," I come down the stairs to meet her. "I needed to stop back by for something… Look-"

"Oh, good, because I need to tell you something. I won the blackout."

"What?" What the hell is a blackout?

"It was the blackout game today. I won. I filled up the whole card. Two whole weeks at a resort in Palm Springs."

"Palm Springs?"

"I hope you don't mind, but my plane leaves in five hours. I'm sure your sister can take care of Lindsey. Will you please call her? I have to go pack." And at that, my mother dashes off to her room. Well, at least she made it easy for me.

* * *

"Sorry I'm late," I say as I step into the bar. "Traffic was grotesque." I don't add that I could have avoided traffic if I hadn't had to drop Mom off at the airport.

"Gee Cath," Sara says, a scrutinizing eyebrow raised at the amount of bags on my arms, "I didn't realize that you planned on taking up a permanent second job."

"Shut it Sidle," I respond as I remove my sunglasses and try to let my gaze follow the odd woman walking a circle around me. "I simply wanted some options."

"Let me see what you've got." Ooh, the odd woman thinks she can boss me around without so much as an introduction. Yeah, right.

"Excuse me, but who the hell are you?"

"Sorry," the woman says with a grin, "my bad. I'm Lucy Lockhart. Owner and manager." I'm impressed. It's not often you see a woman that owns and runs a strip bar. At least, I didn't in my dancing days. I hand her my bags and she drops them on the bar before diving in, her brow furrowed in concentration until, "Aha! This is definitely the most you." She pulls out a long black dress. I like this woman's taste.

"I was thinking that myself," I say with a wry smile.

"Why don't you go put this on and give us a little pre-show."

"It would be my pleasure."

"Do you need me to pick out a thong too, or are you already covered?"

"I'm good."

"What about music choice?"

"Play whatever you want. I'm flexible."

"We'll see about that." Lucy points me in the direction of the dressing room so I can take my leave.

Once I'm dressed, I take some time to look myself over in the mirror. It feels odd, yet amazing to be back in this dress again. Back in my dancing days, this was my favorite piece. It's elegant and seductive all at once: the torso form-fitting; the slits in the side of the skirt tracing my legs all the way to my upper thighs. And it's very easy to take off. I make a mental note to use it on a date sometime in the future before heading out to the main stage.

When I position myself in the entryway, I see Lucy give me a nod, letting me know that she's found a CD. She turns on the stereo and loads her selection. My stomach twists with anticipation as she skips to the right track. I smile to myself when the silence is shattered by Lucy's selection: "Voodoo" by Godsmack. This is going to be fun. I let the introduction go by, allowing the beat to enter my bloodstream as I dropped to my stomach. When the instrumental bit starts, I snake my way across the stage to the pole.

_Candles raise my desire_

I'm impressed with myself as I pull my body up using only my arms. The timing is perfect.

_Why I'm so far away_

I lean back, taking the beat of the music in further.

_No more meaning to my life_

I snap back to the pole, holding it intimately, a hand stroking it tenderly as if it were a spine, and I lick my lips in prayer. The next move will be tricky.

_No more reason to stay_

Keeping a firm grip on the pole with my left hand, I bring my right leg up high above my head, hooking it around the pole, and grasp my ankle with my free hand. God, I'm amazed that I'm still this flexible. Amen for Yoga.

_Freezing feeling_

My left hand pushes off helping me gain the momentum I need to spin around the pole until I crumple on the stage in a heap.

_Breathe in, breathe in_

I stand as if I were rising from my own ashes.

_I'm coming back again_

I rip off my dress, and feel the music take complete possession of my body. The beat, the dancing, has completely intoxicated me and I can no longer hear the words. I can no longer truly comprehend what I'm doing. I'm completely hypnotized by the situation as my body moves on its own. But it's just as well. This was always when I was at my best on stage. It was never about planning my moves. It was always about letting the moment and the music guide me; allowing my body to yield to lust and seduction. I don't snap back into any form of awareness (and even then I can still only feel the music) until I see Lucy standing at the edge of the stage, waving a folded one at me. A seductive smile creeps across my face and I crawl over to my prey. I rise to my knees, place my hands upon her shoulders, and then pull her in and whisper into her ear, "See, I'm flexible." Lucy gives a chuckle as I turn around and prop my left leg upon her shoulder. I turn my head to watch her as I lean back just enough to tease her. The chuckle has disappeared and has been replaced by a look of pure desire. I give her an evil grin as I hook a finger from my right hand into my thong so Lucy could slip in the dollar just as the music came to a stop. It's replaced by the sound of Lucy clapping. Warrick stands at the table where he and Sara had been sitting and joins in. Sara, however, is still sitting, completely stunned. All I can do is laugh and say, "Good to know I've still got it."

"Got it?" Lucy squealed. "You're made of it! I don't suppose I could keep you after this case?"

"Sorry," there was a reason I gave up the stage, and I'm not about to adopt it again permanently. I grab my dress and hop down from where I'm still perched then begin to make my way back towards the dressing room. As I do, I notice that Sara is still sitting there with her eyes popping and her jaw hanging down to the floor. Dammit! It was cute for a minute, but she seriously needs to pull herself together. If she can't, she'll blow the case completely. I stop in front of her, and she manages to look up at me, sort of.

"For Christ's sake, Sidle," I scream, "they're just breasts! You have quite a nice pair yourself," and, indeed she does. "There's no reason to be such a prude about all this."

Wait a minute. My brain registers that I just told Sara Sidle she has a nice chest. Whoops. Ah, well. She doesn't seem to have noticed. In fact, she seems to have pieced herself back together. Her mouth is now closed and at least she's looking me in the eye. Still, I best continue the metaphorical ass reaming just to maintain character, "You better not blow this case, Sidle. I'm not going along with this plan simply so I can get back on the stage." I cross my arms over my chest and wait for what's sure to be a patented Sara reply.

"How did you do that thing with your dress?"

"What?" I'm on a classic rampage, a rampage that normally gets her equally riled. And she's asking about my dress?

"That thing, with your dress, how did you do it?" She is asking about my dress.

"Sidle," I say as I shake my head, "are you a CSI or not?" For good measure, I drop the dress onto her head. "Velcro."

* * *

"This was where I found her." I'm now fully dressed and we're all standing out back by the dumpster. "She wasn't in the dumpster," Lucy continued, "just sprawled out beside it. I noticed her when I came to take out some trash for one of the bartenders."

"Have we figured out a common link besides the blonde thing?" I ask.

"No," Sara jumps in. "Their ages range from early twenties to mid thirties. Their personal lives were just as dissimilar. One was a party girl; one was a complete shut in. One was, get this, a gamer geek, and our latest vic was married with three kids."

"Oh, Tifa," Lucy sighed. "I love the ones that enjoy their jobs."

"Did you know Tifa well?" I ask as I think to myself that I would have enjoyed working for Lucy as well. She obviously cares about her girls.

"Very."

"Is there anything you can think of that might have made her a target?"

Lucy shakes her head. "She was one of our most popular dancers. Everybody loved Tifa." Why is Lucy giving Sara that smile? And why is Sara blushing like that?

"Wait a minute," the blush drops from Sara's face as lightning strikes. "Wasn't Tifa selective with her private dances?" Holy shit! Is that why Sara was blushing a moment ago? She actually _knew_ the vic? Looks like Sidle is full of surprises. Maybe I do have some sort of chance with her… Then again, Lucy could have mentioned something to Sara and Warrick before I got here. And Sara did process this specific crime scene. She could have picked up information then. But that wouldn't account for Lucy's smile and Sara's blush just now… Crap. Why do I have to overanalyze every little detail? Oh, right, it's my job.

Lucy nods to confirm Sara's question, "She was. She knew how to read people really well. She only did private dances for people she felt she could trust."

"If the other girls were the same way, that may be our link."

"Good thinking, Sidle," I let my voice tear me away from my analysis of Sara's sexuality. Whatever my brain wants to think, there really isn't enough evidence to prove she bats for one team or the other or both, and even if there were, there's no proof she would be interested in me… Except that huge grin she's giving me for such a small compliment… Christ, Willows, stop all the wishful thinking.

"Alright," I breathe with a sigh, "take a break you guys. Be back when the bar opens."


	2. Chapter 2

Again, the snippets of song here are from "What Would Happen?" by Meredith Brooks

* * *

It's been a full week and we're no closer to closing this case than when we began. I say closing because we've pretty much solved it, but our potential perp has yet to do a single thing we can indict him for. Unless we can find something that will link him conclusively to our previous murders, the best we can do is hope that he'll do something we can nail him with.

Warrick was the first to spot the guy, a short, dumpy, balding man lacking a few teeth and any sort of etiquette he noticed our first night working the case. Brown pointed the guy out to me when I dropped in on their table on the pretense of selling him a lap dance. When I finally spotted the man, I gave Warrick a confirming nod. The man was obviously interested in only the blondes and the girl who was currently in his lap seemed to be having a rough time of it, though she managed to keep her composure. The man left a few hours later and Sara managed to lift some prints, but they didn't really do us any good. The prints on our vics, though a match, were useless considering they essentially belonged there, and there were no prints that matched our perp's collected at the scenes where the bodies were actually found.

At least our perp didn't look like he was going anywhere anytime soon. He was met with a great deal of compliance by all the girls he solicited. So much so that we began to wonder if Lucy had tipped off her staff. I think that worried Warrick and Sara, but it elated me. It meant that I would get to be the one to bust his ass for murder. All I had to do was wait until he was ready for me, until his scrutinizing glares gave over to his lust.

In the meantime, I was sort of enjoying the assignment. It was nice to know that I still had the talent I had honed so many years ago. It was even nicer to know that Sara Sidle could barely keep her eyes off of me by the middle of our second week. I'd often turn her way while I was on stage and see her avert her eyes quickly, a blush creeping up her neck, making her look like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. But I don't think she ever thought I truly caught her staring seeing as I was far more subtle in my observation of her. Still, it would have been nice if she had decided to come over and give me a dollar. I would have made it worth her time.

I finally get my wish half way through our second week on the case. I had just moved to a side stage in the main room, making half-hearted attempts to move seductively to some horrendous pop song, when I saw Sara standing at the stage, a huge grin plastered on her face as she bobbed eagerly, waiting for my attention. I must have looked shocked for a moment because, honestly, I was. She had spent so much time trying to look like she was avoiding me, I had long thought that she would never come to slip me a bill, but once it hit me that she was really there, I decided not to waste a second more. With a spin around the pole provided me, I drop to the stage and claw my way over to where she's standing, rising to my knees once directly in front of her. I lift my hands and run my fingers through her hair, relishing at how she responds to my touch. My fingers dance down her cheeks, her neck, and rest momentarily on her shoulders to pull her in closer so they can dance down her spine, guiding me to her ass. I can sense the lust and desire emanating from her. It washes over me, drowning me, intoxicating me, as I manage to pull her in closer to breathe into her ear, my voice failing to disguise my own urges, "Sidle, what are you doing?"

"Giving you a tip." she holds up two folded ones and waves them just in range of my peripheral vision. I smile against her cheek. Fuck that was a hot response. I tilt my head lower, teasing her neck with my breath. My body quivers as she leans her head back, offering me further access to skin I so desperately want to taste. But if I start now, Sara will end up being a part of this show, so I pull back, watching her come back down to the reality of the bar. As soon as she opens her eyes, I grab her hair and pull her head back with my right hand, my left hand reaching around behind her to smack her ass. The smallest of whimpers escapes her lips. Damn, Sara, I won't be able to resist ravishing you here if you don't stop being so damn sexy. I stifle my own rising moan with a chuckle as I turn around and bend over, lifting up the side of my thong. As her hand withdraws from slipping in the bills, I feel her nails scrape lightly over my skin, wrenching a gasp from my body as I lean back, begging for the touch to continue. When it doesn't, I rise to my knees and turn around to see Sara waving her fingers at me, an evil grin on her face. Oh, you're in for it now, Sidle.

Quickly, I run to the bar and ask the bartender to pass me the set of handcuffs I had him holding for me just in case. Though I was never sure what the "just in case" was for. If I ended up catching the perp, it wasn't like he would wait for me to go get my cuffs, no matter how close by they might have been. Still, it ended up being a good idea. I beg three scarves off of one of the strippers as I make my way towards the table where Warrick and Sara are currently sitting. Sara's back is to me, but Warrick can see me. He looks incredibly amused. I bring a finger to my lips, indicating that I want him to say nothing of what I'm about to do. He shakes his head, but I can tell it's directed at a question Sara just asked. I owe the man a drink later.

Within seconds, I've wrapped a scarf around Sara's head, obscuring her vision. My hands find Sara's wrists, pulling them behind her back. The cuffs give a satisfying click as I lean forward to speak into her ear, "Sara Sidle, you are under arrest." I feel the words roll of my tongue like liquid, pouring every ounce of desire I can convey into them. She needs to know how badly I want this.

"Go ahead and book me, officer," she replies. I can just see a smile playing at the edge of her lips. This is going to be fun.

Swiftly, I guide Sara towards a private room, muttering nonchalant "excuse me's" to anyone in my way. Once in the room, I guide her into a chair and busy myself with tying her ankles to its legs with the remaining scarves. Sara lets out an audible sigh of pleasant surprise. It's music to my ears. I'm tempted to begin what's sure to be a delicious seduction, but I still need a soundtrack for this. As soon as I feel both her legs are secure, I stand up and head for the door. Her head snaps around as she tries to look at me, panic etched on her mouth. Stifling a giggle at how cute she looks when she's worried like that, I give her a reassuring response, "Don't worry. I'm just going to get some mood music."

A few nights ago, the DJ played one of the most deliciously seductive songs I had ever heard in my life. A song that dangled on both the edges of something innocent and provocative, to me at least. It would make this moment perfect. I could only hope that the DJ had it handy, and that he could recognize the tune when I hummed it to him. I had no idea who the artist was or what the title was. Fortunately, both my wishes were granted, and I made it back to the room just in time to see Sara shift uncomfortably in her seat. Is she that turned on already?

"You're cute when you squirm." Did I just say "cute?" I meant to say "fucking sexy."

"Are you taking my blindfold off yet?"

"So impatient. Give me a second."

I load the CD into the player sitting on the floor a few feet in front of Sara, cuing it to where I need it before I walk up to her, bending down to speak into her ear, my hands resting on the knot of her blindfold.

"I want you…" I pause for momentary effect, "to keep your eyes closed after I remove this and then slowly count to five."

She nods as I begin to work on untying the knot.

"One... Two… Three… Four… Five…" As she counts, I walk back over to the CD player, stand in front of it, and remove my thong. When she finally opens her eyes, I find myself feeling drunk at the way she's devouring me with her stare. Christ she makes me wet. With a wry smile, I lift up my left foot and manage to hit the play button with the heel of my stiletto… without looking. Sara's jaw drops.

_Electricity_

As I walk over to her, I can tell that she appreciates my music selection.

_Eye to eye_

I straddle her, as close as I can to her waist, using her skirt almost like a blanket between us. Though her movement is limited, I can still feel her body react, it's almost relaxing. There's no indication that she needs me to rush. She's drinking the moment in. "I never would have imagined that the great Sara Sidle would enjoy being teased so much," I breathe into her ear, my hands running through her hair.

_Hey don't I know you? I can't speak_

I break the contact, slipping off of her lap and dropping to the floor before her knees. I push her skirt up as far as it will go.

_Stripped my senses on the spot_

I push her legs as far apart as they will go considering their restraints. My hands teasing her right thigh before I dip my head in and allow my breath to take their place. I find myself becoming lightheaded, intoxicated once again, the scent of her arousal is almost too much. Unconsciously, I lick my lips. God, I want to taste her. How can she take it when I'm feeling so shaken, so on edge? If she were doing this to me, I would have been straining against my restraints by now.

_I've never been defenseless_

I bless the music. The next line allows me to pull away, keeping me from ending this far too early, and my hands begin to busy themselves with unbuttoning Sara's shirt.

_I can't even make sense of this_

My hands find the last button, and I take a second to breathe, watching as Sara arches her body toward me. It's a beautiful sight.

_You speak and I don't hear a word_

My hands work their way over her torso, pulling every curve into memory before I lean in myself, letting my own bare skin run over hers. I smile to myself when I see her attempt to bring her arms around to pull me in closer. So she does have limits after all. Thank, God. I feel more in control now.

_What would happen if we kissed?_

I move my head towards hers; my lips hovering dangerously close to hers. She parts her mouth in anticipation.

_Would your tongue slip past my lips?_

Ignoring her silent request, my head passes on by, our cheeks brushing together as I lean in further to chuckle into her ear, telling her that I'm running this show. To illustrate this point, I swing my left leg over her right thigh, hovering, allowing her to feel the heat I know I'm generating, but that she is powerless to do anything about. I nip at her neck.

_Would you run away?_

I lean back to look into her eyes, to see her reaction… Hang on a moment. Why does she have that devilish grin on her face?

_Would you stay?_

Her thigh thrusts upwards, skillfully pushing its way onto my clit.

_Or would I melt into you…_

I'm completely distracted by her sudden move, and she leans in, stealing the kiss I had denied her just moments before. We do indeed melt into each other. Completely high on the moment, the sounds of the music no longer matters. All I can hear are the moans we're pouring into each other as the kiss deepens and becomes furious exploration.

Greedily, I drink in everything Sara has to pour into the kiss, my hands tangling fingers into her hair, until my lungs are desperate for air. I fight the cry my brain is making for oxygen until I just can't take it anymore. I throw my head back and fill my lungs, taking the opportunity to grind against Sara's thigh as I do.

"Cath, please…" Holy shit, I actually have the woman begging. I consider teasing her for a moment more, but then decide that her bold move was cause enough for reward. Besides, to simultaneously come with Sara Sidle has been on my wish list for quite some time, and I allow my hands to drop, my left gripping Sara's shoulder for balance; my right dancing its way back down her torso and disappearing into her skirt. Her eyes roll as my fingertips find her clit, but apparently, she still has other ideas because I can feel her weight shift. The move pulls an involuntary groan from my lips as I feel her thigh move against me yet again, but her message is perfectly clear. Two of my fingers find their way inside her, curling against her front wall.

"Fuck!" the expletive falls off of Sara's lips in a near grunt and she slides down further in the seat, nearly tipping me over. The only thing that keeps me from tumbling to the floor is the grip my left hand has on Sara's shoulder. I nearly teeter off balance again when I feel Sara move her thigh suddenly, but I manage to hang on by pulling her in close as I match my grinding to her movements. I flutter my fingers inside of her in appreciation. We both moan and pick up the pace. I've never felt this exquisitely inebriated in my entire life. The sensations of the moment flood my bloodstream, and I grind even harder against the thigh that's sending delicious tingles up my spine. My release is close, I can feel it. I arch my back and throw back my head in a desperate search to find it. It comes crashing down on me full force when I feel Sara bite down on my left nipple.

"Oh, God, Sara…" this is, by far, the best clitoral orgasm I have ever had in my life. I can still feel it coursing through my blood as Sara begins to moan into my breast, letting me know she's beginning her final ascent. When she pulls back and I feel the muscles contracting around my fingers beginning to ease up, I pick my pace back up just a bit as I lean in and bite her neck. The cry she gives me brings a smile to my lips.

"Shit! Cath… uhn…" she collapses against the chair and I lean into her, slowly removing my hand from her as I do. When I bring her taste around to my lips, I can feel her smile against my ear. "That was fucking amazing," she says around her still slightly labored breathing."

"Shit, Sidle. That was beyond amazing. If you can do that to me bound… Fuck, I can't imagine what you would do to me if I let you loose."

"Maybe you should find out."

I lean back to look her in the eye as I bite my lip. Is she fucking serious?

The cocked eyebrow she has given in response to my unasked question makes me think that she is. Any lingering doubt is quickly driven away as she leans in to kiss me once again. This time, the kiss is lazy, a sweet and deep exploration that allows us to keep breathing. It probably could have gone on for an eternity if Warrick hadn't burst into the room.

"Sorry to interrupt," he said looking far too amused. A small chuckle worked its way up before he continued, "Our perp just turned up after all."

"OK," I spat. I am far too irritated to even consider being polite. "Give us a minute."

"Right." He shut the door.

"Back to work I guess," Sara said with a sigh.

* * *

I spend a moment in the dressing room trying to get that "just fucked" look out of my hair and eyes. My hair was no problem, but I don't think any amount of makeup could fix the eyes. Even I can tell they're shining with the remnants of lust when I look in the mirror. Ah, well, maybe this can work to our advantage somehow. Make our perp think he can score with me. As, ah, rewarding as this case has been, I must say, I'm ready for it to end. I shudder at the idea of still having to work the bar when my mother gets back from Palm Springs.

When I re-enter the main room, I spot our perp. For a moment, he catches my gaze, a greedy look on his face. Whatever he thinks happened, he knows I'm in play. He knows that I just came out of a private room where I did _something_ with _someone_. His gaze says it all. Just as he's about to raise his hand to signal me, a waitress walks up to me.

"One of our clients is requesting your company."

"I figured," I say gesturing vaguely in the direction of our perp. "He was just about to signal me."

The waitress turns and looks at the short balding man then turns back to me. "No, not him. It's that girl you just gave a private dance to, Sara." She points to where Sidle and Warrick are sitting. Oh. Alright, our perp can wait just a little longer. I make my way across the room and plop myself into Sara's lap.

"Miss me already?" I tease.

"Yes, but that's not why I called you over here, Topaz."

"Let me guess," someone else must have spotted our suspect's hungry look. "You want me to make a move on our perv… I mean perp."

"Yep."

"Do you have a plan?"

"I'm thinking… you go over there and give him a lap dance. Hopefully, he'll ask for a private dance when you're done. You refuse; you end your shift soon after. He follows you out, you let him make enough of a move, and we bust him. Warrick's already called for backup. They know who and what to be looking for."

"Sounds like a plan. What about you guys. Where will you be?"

"Warrick will go signal the backup when we need them to be ready. I'll stay in here, just in case."

"Alright. Looks like it's my time to shine," I say as I plaster on a genuine looking smile and reluctantly rise from my gorgeous chair, my fingertips gently grazing Sara's neck and cheek before I turn and head in the direction of that sick and twisted bastard. I'm beginning to wish Sara hadn't called me over just now. It made the prospect of putting up with that creep's hands incredibly grim.

I head over to the DJ booth to check what's next on the play list before I head to the table. If there's ever a point in time where I need to be in the zone, where I need to not be fully aware of what I'm doing, this is it. As luck would have it, "Voodoo" is next. Go figure. I head over to our suspect's table, and drop into his lap, a seductive smile painted on my face.

"So handsome, what's you're name?"

"Harold," the man says. He looks surprised, but pleased. "You?"

"Topaz," I toss my hair over my shoulder and run a hand up his neck to the top of his bald head; a finger tracing slow circles on his scalp. The look on his face tells me he is putty in my hands. "So, Harold, I'll take it you're interested in a dance. I've seen you watching me for some time now."

He closes his eyes and nods before something hits his brain and they snap back open. "What about her?" the aggression in his voice as he jerks his head in Sara's direction is clear. This man is a live wire.

"She ran out of cash."

The answer seems to please him and he turns back into play dough just as the song changes. I throw my head back as I straddle him, arching my body towards him as I try desperately to will the music to take over my bloodstream. The trance comes not a moment to soon. Because of it, I barely register how roughly he's handling me, his hands wandering, his touches dangling dangerously on the edge of violation. I'm a slave to the intoxication of the music, and it's a good thing. The stiffness in Harold's pants tells me I'm making him incredibly tense. And that's where we need him.

When the song ends, I feel reality falling down on me and I get up, pulling my sparkly bra back on. My gaze drops to Harold as I do. He looks like a large pile of goo, and it's apparent that he misses the contact we had a moment ago. As soon as he composes himself a little, he speaks, quickly, as if he's afraid that I'll walk away before he has a chance to say anything.

"How about a private dance?" He holds up five hundred dollar bills. "I'll make it worth your while if you make it worth mine.

"Sorry. If you're looking for _that_ kind of action, head back to town and walk the strip. I'm off the clock now." I pick up the twenty sitting on the table and stalked off towards the dressing room. Our perp looks pissed.

* * *

I don't know why I'm rushing. Harold was pissed when I denied him a private "dance." No, he was beyond pissed. He was insulted, a pure ball of fury. He's definitely going to try and make me his next victim. He knows I'm about to leave. More than likely, he's hiding somewhere outside waiting to pounce me in the parking lot. Still, I want to get this over with, so after pulling my sweats on, I tie my shoes as quickly as I possibly can. That's when I hear it.

_Creak_.

It sounded like groaning metal.

_Creak_.

I stand up and look at the ceiling. The sound definitely came from overhead.

_Crash!_

The vent to the air duct clattered to the floor and was followed by Harold, who locks the door then closes the distance between us with only two steps. A hand darted forward and gripped my throat before I even had a chance to react. I immediately feel the effects of the lack of oxygen, and my brain refuses to focus properly. The only thing I can think to do is to try and back away as both my hands try to pull his arm away. Harold moves with me as I do. I vaguely think that this shrimp is surprisingly strong.

"You fucking bitch!" our perp screams. "You had no problem giving _her_ what she wanted. I offer you half a grand and you deny me! It's your _job_ to fulfill my fantasies, to make _me_ feel like a _king_. You must be punished for your transgressions, for forgetting that the customer is always right."

Up until now, I had been taking in scraps of air. But as he finished his rant, I felt his fingers tighten. I was going to lose consciousness soon. And then, I backed into a dressing table. My hands dropped and groped behind me searching for something, anything I could use to get this sick bastard off me. The room is spinning. All I can see is light interrupted by moments of darkness. Just as I'm beginning to accept the idea that this will all be hopeless, I find my salvation. My right hand wraps its fingers around a pair of fabric scissors. I don't think. I don't even aim. I can't aim because I can't see. What's left of the room is fading fast. All I can do is summon every ounce of strength I have as I make a wild swing and hope I get lucky.

When I feel the grip on my throat slacken I realize I can breathe. I take in a few deep breaths before my eyes can register what has happened. The sight is rather horrifying, yet incredibly intoxicating. Harold's eyes are wide with shock, both his hands now fingering the pair of scissors I had managed to insert deep into his neck. He tries to speak, but only gurgles and blood make it out of his throat. The sound is like music to my ears. It feels _good_ to know that I dealt vengeance upon the man who had killed four women. The wrath takes over my body for a moment and I give the scissors a twist as I dislodge them from his throat, feeling a sensation run through my body that is oddly similar to an orgasm, a feeling of deep satisfaction. There are more wet noises as he tries to breathe, coughing and sputtering as he does, spraying me and the room with his blood. He drops to his knees before falling into a motionless heap upon the floor. It's over. I killed him.

I killed him. I _killed_ him. And I enjoyed it. The reality of what has just happened comes crashing down on me and I sink to the floor, my eyes unable to tear themselves away from the body before me. Vaguely I register that there is a bunch of noise that sounds like panic before the door is kicked in revealing Sara and Lucy.

"Cath?" Sara asks cautiously. Cath? Who's Cath? Surely she can't be referring to Catherine Willows. Can't she see that Catherine is long gone, replaced with this dark demon instead.

"Cath!" Sara tries again, raising her voice. She sounds almost angry. Can't say I blame her. She hates murderers. And that's what I am now, a murderer. A murderer because I enjoyed it.

"Wake up Willows." No. Catherine Willows doesn't live here anymore.

"Topaz?" What? I look up into Sara's face, confused. When I see only concern etched in the lines of her face, I begin to think that maybe the demon that came wandering in didn't stay. It must not have if she can't see it. Maybe Catherine is still here after all.

"He came in through the air duct," my voice sounds distant to my own ears as I gesture towards the ceiling. "He was shouting all this crap about how it was my job to do whatever he was willing to pay for. Narcissistic prick." Maybe the demon is still here.

On the off chance it is, I turn my gaze away from Sara so she can't see. My eyes rest on the body again, and I tremble as I feel something doing a happy dance in my stomach. Yep, the demon has definitely decided to stay. I shudder when I wonder how long it will take him to evict Catherine.

"You're coming home with me tonight," Sara's words chase the demon back.

"No, it's OK. I'm OK." I should go ahead and get used to being alone with the little monster inside of me.

"Cath, no. I know you've left Lindsey with your sister for this case. I know you sent your mother out of town too. I'm not leaving you alone after this. You're coming home with me."

"Sar…" I look up at Sara and see an argument would be pointless. Besides, the Catherine part of me really wants to go, and, for a second, it thinks that maybe it'll keep the demon at bay.

"Alright, Sidle. Whatever you say."


	3. Chapter 3

"Christ!" I scream into my locker. "Out of all nights, why do I have to run out of hair and body wash on this one?" After getting back to the lab and giving my statement and sending all the evidence we could collect in for processing, I've realized that what was done was done in self-defense. I no longer believe that there's a demon trying to possess me. Once my brain started functioning again, I realized how illogical that was… Still, that doesn't change the fact that I killed a man and enjoyed it. I may not be possessed, but I'm sure as hell guilty. And now, when I feel the need more than I ever have in my life to be clean, my locker is completely devoid of soap. This is some form of punishment, isn't it?

At my outburst, Sara reaches into her own locker and hands me a bottle.

"Pert?" She's got to be kidding.

"Nah. That's just the bottle I carry it in."

I raise an eyebrow as I screw off the lid and take a whiff. Damn, this is the best smelling soap ever. "Mmm… so this is why you smell so good all the time. What is this stuff?"

"Secret recipe."

"You make your own soap?" I knew she was into science, with a job like this, you have to be, but I never pegged her as a soap maker.

"Sort of. It's a blend of different products I bought. I have a whole bucket of it at home so use as much as you need. Keep it if you want.

"Thanks."

"No sweat… I need some coffee. Meet me up in the break room when you're done?"

"Sure."

* * *

The shower is a blessing. I turn the hot water up as high as I can stand it, needing to feel the burn, needing to scald the evidence off of my body and out of my hair. A part of me wants to stay in the shower for forever. It would take an eternity to wash the blood from my hands. But I certainly don't have enough soap for that and I know Sara is waiting for me so I settle for fifteen minutes.

When I get to the break room, it's just in time to hear Greg catching Sara with her hand in the cookie jar so to speak.

"I've seen you at the bars before. Once, anyhow, when my cousin was in town. He dragged me to Lucy's. You seemed a little preoccupied with some blonde so I figured it wasn't the time for introductions."

Blonde, huh? I'm slightly tempted to remain just out of sight until Greg is done pounding Sara with the questions I know he wants to ask, but I feel like I have enough guilt weighing me down. Besides, I'm kind of tired. I figure it's best if I just go on in and save her.

"Ready?" I say as I pop my head into the break room. "I grabbed some spare clothes from my locker so we don't need to stop by my place."

"Yeah," Sara looks relieved to see me, "let's go."

* * *

The drive to Sara's apartment is virtually silent. I stare out the window, my eyes unseeing. All I can focus on is the scene back at the bar. It replays in my mind, and I can still feel that bit of satisfaction as I recall the way I twisted the scissors in the perp's neck before withdrawing them. I can feel a twisted smile tugging at the corners of my mouth, but as soon as I register it's intent to show itself, I give myself a mental slap. Killing a man isn't supposed to feel good under any circumstances. I feel the guilt well up inside of me and fight the urge to vomit. It would not be cool to blow chunks in Sara's car under any circumstances either. I lean my head against the window and let the cool glass numb my brain.

"Cat, we're here."

I hear Sara's words, but my brain disagrees with her apparent fact. If we're here, why is the world still spinning?

"You hungry? I've got a killer vegetable-tofu stirfry in the fridge

The spinning slows and comes to a stop. Oh, so we are here. Stirfry does sound tempting. "Sure. Yeah. Stirfry."

Once inside, Sara busies herself with the process of getting dinner on the table leaving me to wander around her apartment freely. My eyes take in the sight. Whatever I was expecting the place to look like, I'm pretty sure it wasn't this.

Sara's apartment looks like an explosion, but in an oddly organized way. Jackets are draped over the dining room chairs, along with a pair of roller blades, a pair of boxing gloves, and a back pack. The surface of the dining table, however, is completely clear except for placemats and a few decorative candles. Her living room is the same way. The floor in front of the TV is strewn with a few DVD's and at least three editions of Guitar Hero. The black, Italian leather sofa has a blanket sprawled across it and a pile of pillows at one end and the matching chair has a book draped over one arm and a very large tortoise shell cat asleep on the other. There are also a few candy wrappers strewn across the end table. The coffee table, on the other hand, has a few neatly stacked forensics journals and what appears to be a very well organized pile of papers. All the surfaces appear to be dust free. I circle the room for a while, wondering how chaos can look so clean and be so devoid of cat hairs before my curiosity gets the better of me. I have to know what her bedroom looks like.

Her bedroom is just like the rest of the apartment. The queen sized bed is unmade, the covers looking like they were tossed off the bed's occupant unceremoniously as she rose before shift. The night stand is piled with books, and again, I see a few candy wrappers. There's a treadmill in one corner of the room with a handful of clothes draped over the handrails, but the machine doesn't look like it would be hindered by its burden. It looks like these may be her favorite lounging clothes because there are a number of t-shirts, a pair of shorts and some pajama bottoms. Another corner bares a rather large pile of shoes. Other than that, the floor is clear. Again I wonder how her apartment can be so free of cat hair. And where's the litter box? OK, I have to check the bathroom.

Sara's bathroom is the one place that looks completely pristine and free of clutter. I still don't see a litter box. I must have missed it somewhere. Just as I'm contemplating where it might be hiding, my eyes are drawn to the mirror above the sink before me. I stared at my reflection, horrified by what I saw.

I had avoided looking at the mirror back in the lab locker room. Somehow, I knew that I would still see our perp's blood all over me if I did. I was right. I was still completely covered. Suddenly, my hands felt sticky. I looked down and saw nothing but red. They had to be cleaned first. If they weren't, they would stain everything I touched from here on out. I lunged for the sink.

Deep sobs took over my body as I found that my vigorous scrubbing seemed to be doing no good. The red may have been fading, but that sticky feeling would not relent no matter how hard I tried to wash it away. I must have been scrubbing for at least five minutes before a hand reached over and turned the water off. A moment later, Sara has grabbed my hands and is gently drying them. She tosses the towel to the floor and then pulls me into her arms. All I can do is continue my crying as I pull her body as close as possible. I feel a hand work its way into my hair, fingers dancing softly through it as Sara breathes into my ear, "Shh… It's alright. I promise."

"Sara," I sob, "I killed a man. A sick, twisted, perverted asshole, but still a man. Up close. With a pair of scissors for Christ's sake! God, I can still feel his blood on me!" I suddenly remember how sticky my hands feel and pull away, turning back towards the sink. Sara manages to catch a hold of me by my wrists, forcing me to face her again.

"Honey, it's gone. The blood is gone. And if you spend any more time washing your hands, you'll strip the skin clean off." Sara brings my hands to her mouth and softly kisses my knuckles and swings us around so she's closer to the sink. I can feel myself melting at her touch in spite of everything, and my sobs ease up before I allow her to spin me around and nudge me out the door.

Sara leads me to her bed and forces me to sit. She plops down next to me, taking my hands in hers. Soon, I feel the soothing sensation of lotion easing away the burn of having scrubbed my hands too hard. It manages to alleviate that sticky feeling a bit as well. "Do you want to tell me what happened, exactly?" Sara asks. I nod in relief, realizing I had been waiting for permission to tell Sara my story.

"I had done as planned. He was pissed when I denied him a private dance. I pretty much went straight to the dressing room after that. I pulled on my sweats. Changed my shoes. And then, I heard something. Something that sounded like creaking metal. Before I knew what was happening, that-that prick had knocked the cover to the air duct off and jumped down. A moment later, his hand was on my throat. I tried to back away, to break free, but he just moved with me. He was screaming about how it was my job to make him fee like a king. And I just kept backing up.

"Eventually, I bumped into a dressing table. My hands groped behind me, searching for something, anything I could use as a weapon. I found the scissors. But I was beginning to lose consciousness. The room was fading. I made one, desperate swing with all the strength I had. And I got him in the neck. And… and…"

"Everything was drenched in red."

I nod, and I can feel the tears well up in my throat again.

Sara folded me up into her arms again, "He would have killed you if you hadn't found a way to stop him. You know that, right?"

I nod.

"It was self-defense."

I nod again.

"I know you feel bloodstained, but you're still a good person. This one act doesn't change that."

I try to nod. I want to nod, but I can't. My head gives up on trying to affirm her words and then shakes, denying the possibility. I'm _not_ a good person. Not after what I did. I pull away from Sara, my gaze dropping to the floor as my head falls into my hands. Sara allows a heavy sigh to escape her lips, a sure sign that she's going to press this, insist that I am a good person.

"A part of you enjoyed it, didn't it?"

I begin to shake my head, an automatic counter to what I thought she was going to say. Then my brain registers what she asked me, and I nod, looking up in wonder. How can she possibly know that? Maybe she finally did see that demon. Maybe he really is real. That must be it because Sara has risen and is heading for the door. Any second, she'll turn around and tell me to get the hell out. As I suspected. She stops at the door and turns back to face me.

"Well, come on," Sara says. "I'm not telling you this story on an empty stomach." What the fuck?

I avoid looking at Sara as we eat in silence. I'm not sure what to expect, so I concentrate on the tofu, downing the whole bowl in a few quick bites. My mind figures, if I really am possessed by a demon, maybe there won't be enough room for him if my stomach is full. Sara's still slowly picking at her bowl, as if she's trying to stall for time. For something further to do, I drain the glass of wine Sara poured for me then help myself to more from the bottle she left sitting on the table.

As I'm staring down into my replenished glass, debating whether or not polishing off the whole bottle is a good idea, Sara clears her throat. I look, up, relieved that she's finally ready to begin talking, and all of my attention focuses itself on her. After one long drink out of her beer, she begins.

"I was dating this guy back in college my freshman year. A frat guy of all people. But he didn't seem like the rest of his bros. He was charming and sweet. He didn't act like the morons his friends were." The first string of information falls from Sara's lips quickly and almost all in one breath. When she stops to breathe, she drains the rest of the beer in her bottle then pulls another from the six-pack sitting in front of her. She pops the cap off and takes a long drink before she turns her gaze to me. I simply stare back at her, silent and breathless. I can tell it's hurting her to relive this memory, but I can't tell her to stop. Whatever she has to say, I _need_ to hear it. Sara senses this and manages to continue.

"Anyhow, he gave me that whole spiel about respecting me as a person and waiting until I was ready. Blah, blah, blah… And then, during spring break, he throws this party at his parents' beach house. Lord knows where they were at the time. Europe I think. So we all got _trashed_, and when I say _trashed_ I mean completely _fucked up_. Some of us were drunk, some high, some tripping or whatever, some were every combination possible. I think I was mostly drunk, but I was a little baked too. At any rate, I was out of it enough to let him lead me up the stairs to his bedroom.

"It wasn't until he closed and locked the door that I even realized where we were. I wanted out and I told him so, but he had the key, and he had other plans. He tossed me to the bed. God, I was so fucked I could barely utter 'no.' But I said it dammit, and I know he understood me because he said not to worry. There were other things we could do. He'd be 'good.' He wouldn't 'violate' me."

Sara pauses again, taking another swig from her bottle. I shake my head in horror at what she said, what I know she's about to say. As she continues, I drain my glass, and then switch to drinking the wine straight out of the bottle, welcoming the intoxicating feeling, allowing it soften Sara's story just enough to be bearable.

"I heard him unzip his fly, heard him telling me to open my mouth, and for some ungodly reason I did. I felt him thrust into my mouth, testing my gag reflex, but I fight it. I fight the urge to vomit until I realize that I can taste and smell his sweat. When I looked up and saw that smug smile on his face, I couldn't hold back. I threw up all over his dick. To this day, I wish I could have held it back. Because as soon as I blew chunks, I felt a hand close around my throat, his grip growing tighter as he screamed obscenities while he used his other hand to slap me hard across the face, repeatedly. And, like you, I was losing consciousness. Like you, all I could do was reach out and hope to God that I would find something to use as a weapon. Like you, I found something sharp, in my case a hunting knife on the bedside table. And like you, I swung with all my might, hoping I'd hit him somewhere. In my case, it was his stomach. And, like you, there was a part of me that enjoyed the retribution I was delivering. But unlike you, I didn't get to have a cute girl sitting across from me telling me a story over cold stirfry about how she killed a man and enjoyed it a little. I could have used it though. It would have been nice to know that I wasn't alone." All I can do is stare at Sara. Was she implicating that she actually felt guilty about killing someone while he was violating her? She's got to be crazy. My mouth moves on its own, completely forgetting my own situation.

"Christ, Sara! You should have enjoyed killing that bastard, the way he was taking advantage of you. And then beat you while trying to strangle you. Why should you feel guilty about it at all?"

"Well, your bastard had killed four girls before trying to kill you. Mine hadn't been in a spot of trouble before he tried to kill me, and he had a 4.0 GPA."

Oh, my God, that was horrible, but funny. I immediately double over in laughter, and before long Sara is laughing just as hard. It felt good to let go like that, cathartic almost, and I'm beginning to feel normal again. As soon as I feel I have my breathing under control again, I allow a smile to play across my mouth as I say, "We're horrible people."

"Yes, we are… But seriously, Cath, it'll get easier. You just need to realize one thing."

"What?"

"You're supposed to feel guilty." OK, I was not expecting that. I shoot Sara a look of surprise. She can't be serious.

"Don't misunderstand me. The trick to that is, because you feel guilty, you know you're still a good person. So, own you're guilt Catherine, just don't let it own you… You want some tea?"

"Sure."

* * *

As Sara tends to the tea, I drop down onto her couch and mull over everything she's just told me. For the first time tonight since we left the bar, I actually feel like it will all be OK. As Sara sits down and hands me my tea, I realize how lucky I am to have her right now, and I sip my tea in silence as I appreciate that fact.

"Thanks, Sar," I finally say when the silence becomes too much, "for this. You were right. I shouldn't have been left alone tonight." I placed my mug on the coffee table and the pulled Sara into my arms. Her body twisted for a minute as she reached to place her mug on the end table before she returned the embrace. Within minutes, I felt myself becoming light-headed, an intoxication that had nothing to do with the wine. An intoxication that brought a smile to my lips when I leaned back to look Sara in the face and find the love that shone in my eyes reflected back at me in hers. Slowly, I drew closer, capturing her lips with mine, leading her into a long and languid kiss of deep exploration. I marveled at the sensations coursing through my blood and the way Sara trembled at something that seemed so simple. When we finally broke apart, Sara pressed her forehead into mine, and evil smile playing at her lips.

"So, you wanna see what I can do when I'm not bound?"

* * *

So that's it. If you haven't read "The Five Senses" yet, I suggest you do, since it is the companion piece. Go get Sara's take on things. I promise, my next piece is in the making, but seeing as I like to post all chapters at once, it may be a while before it's up.


End file.
